Over Again
by WiccaWoman17587
Summary: "I've done the wrong thing. I've deviated from the script. Taken away the usual bickering and underhanded insults; stripped myself right down to the bone and bared my soul to you." A little angst and fluffiness. Jemily. T for language.


**A/N: so, I was going to include this in the Snapshots series but I don't think it fit. If you want music to listen to while reading, try Beyoncé's Start Over. It was the inspiration for this. T for language (One word). Please R&R, let me know what you thought; good, bad, somewhere in the middle, it's all good!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

The cool counter-top bites into the base of my spine as I push back, away from the shouted accusations directed at me. I run a hand over my weary eyes and try to shut out the venom in your voice; spite I'd never hoped to hear in your clear, melodic tone. It used to be summer and laughter and everything I loved but now there is only ever a hard edge that grates on my nerves.

"You're not even listening are you?" My attention snaps back to you immediately. Your crystal blue orbs; once the colour of a spring sky, warm and inviting are now icy and distant.

"Aren't you tired?" I ask you. I know I've given in, exhausted with the same old arguments being thrown back and forth. My heart aches at the situation we find ourselves in. "Why do we keep doing this?" Your mouth snaps shut abruptly as you look away. I step forward, no longer pinned to the spot by your vicious glare.

"We wouldn't have to if you would just stop flirting," you mutter bitterly. I throw my hands against my thighs sharply, relishing the harsh sting shooting across my skin, enhanced by the tight fabric of my jeans. The slap almost echoes in the silence and your gaze ticks back to me quickly, your lips pursing in a surprised little 'o'.

"It's Morgan for fucks sake, Jennifer." Even when I'm angry you are still Jennifer; never JJ, you mean more than that to me. "We've been through this. He's my partner, we have banter. There is nothing in it."

"It doesn't look like it." You square your shoulders and I immediately close my eyes.

"Do you not trust me?" I whisper. I open my eyes to see tears brimming over your lower lashes; I've done the wrong thing. I've deviated from the script. Taken away the usual bickering and underhanded insults; stripped myself right down to the bone and bared my soul to you. There will be no forced tears until one of us breaks. No quick fix. No rough but ultimately satisfying make up sex that somehow manages to widen the ever growing fissure between us. This will be real and painful.

"How can you ask me that?" Your tone borders on incredulous and I can't help the rage bubbling beneath my skin.

"How can you make me question it? Not once have I levelled any accusations at you when it would've been so easy to. All the flirting you do during investigations to get your way. No. I get it. It's just part of the job. You're just playing the game." Your cerulean orbs widen almost comically as I rant. I notice you've stepped back against the wall, leaning your weight backwards, as if my words had physically moved you.

"I didn't think-" You sound so small.

"No you didn't." A weight settles on my chest as realisation creeps into my consciousness. I know what needs to happen, what I need to say but the words lodge in my throat. I know it will hurt you. "Why…" I cough quietly, clearing the hoarse words and try again. "Why are we still pretending?"

"Pretending?" I pick a spot over your shoulder and focus my tearful gaze on it.

"That there still something here worth fighting for." I block out the strange sound you make, halfway between a sob and a cry, and press on. "Maybe we have just reached the end. Or maybe this is the point where something has to change. This," I wave my finger between us, "has to stop."

"Do you still love me?" The air leaves my lungs suddenly and in my head I picture a boat, stranded as the wind dies down, leaving the sail to flutter before hanging limply.

"If you have to ask me that then-"

"When was the last time you told me?" My mouth continued moving, opening and closing in a scarily accurate impression of a drowning goldfish, but no sound made its way out. At my silence you cross your arms. "I thought so. Maybe you're right." Before I can comprehend your whispered words you've spun away and are marching up the stairs. Fear roots me to the spot as I hear you rummaging through drawers, one heavy bang after the other. After what feels like a few seconds, but was probably actually several minutes, you make your way down the stairs in jeans and my old Yale t-shirt with a small rucksack in your hand. I spare a glance at your tear stained cheeks and glowing pink nose before you move into the hall and to the front door. I sink to the floor and let the tears fall as the door thumps shut; silence chasing the loud noise away quickly, a heavy blanket draping over my shoulders and deafening me.

Hours later the piercing tone of my phone rouses me from the semi catatonic state I've slipped into in the kitchen floor. I swivel my eyes towards the small device, perched on the coffee table a few metres away and groan at the effort involved in retrieving it. It beeps again and makes my mind up for me. I rise onto knees, ignoring the subtle creaks and sharp pops from my joints, and shuffle to the couch. I swipe the screen and open the two messages, pausing only briefly as I notice who they are from.

**Jennifer **

One's an address with a time, the other a short message: _We need to talk. J x_

I stare at the _x_, trying to decipher its meaning. Was it accidental? A habit formed from years of use. Was it purposeful? Trying to tell me that maybe things aren't as bad as they seem. I glance at the clock then shift into motion immediately. I have an hour to get ready and be across town on time. I race through a shower and throw on some clothes, hoping I look halfway decent before I pick up my keys and phone and head out the door.

I make it to the address with ten minutes to spare and use the time to calm my explosive nerves. A mini tornado is making its way through my stomach, completely overpowering the usual butterflies. I exit and lock the car, making my way to the propped open door and into the factory. Inside I find a row of small lanterns lighting a path to a set of stairs. The steps double back on themselves before opening out onto a small landing with a door marked roof. A large rock holds the door open and I can see flickering light through the crack. I pull the handle and step onto the flat rooftop, my mouth dropping open slightly. In the middle of the space, you are sat on a red blanket; a picnic basket to your left and a bottle of wine to your right. Surrounding you are hundreds of tea lights in clear glass cases illuminating the area in soft yellow light, making your hair glow golden. You stand and step forward, meeting me halfway.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," you whisper fearfully. I scoff softly as if that's the most absurd thing I've ever heard and in some ways it is. "But I'm glad you did. We need to talk about this. I have a suggestion." You lead me to the blanket and encourage me to sit opposite you. Once I'm settled you pour a glass of wine for us both and then peer at me through long lashes.

"What's your suggestion?" I probe after a few seconds of silence.

"We start over. Right from the beginning. I'm not ready to give this up; to let you go but we can't carry on like this. You were right: Something needs to change." I stare at you, unaware of time or the tiny sliver of silver moon hanging just behind your head or the faint wind caressing my arms and raising little goosebumps.

"Won't we just encounter the same problems? Morgan's still going to be there, he's still my partner," I say eventually, breaking from the spell your eyes had me under.

"I had never thought about the reverse. The fact you have to see me charm the locals into giving us what we need. You say nothing about it. You understand. Maybe you can help me understand." You are quiet for a second as your gaze jumps from one tiny flame to another before finding my expectant orbs. "I want to get better; to get over my issues." I nod solemnly.

"How far back?"

"To the beginning." You smile impishly and I can't help but copy the look. "Emily Prentiss, would you date me?" I snort a laugh through my nose and shake my head in mirth. Your expression changes as you thrust out your bottom lip and dimple your chin, casting sad eyes at me. I raise my scrutiny to heavens briefly, pretending to think about the question.

"Okay," I answer eventually. You yelp happily and launch into my arms, pressing your full lips to mine with an aching familiarity. When you pull back I adopt a disappointed frown. "Kissing on the first date? I don't think so Miss Jareau. That's at least third date territory." At my soft laughter your eyes drop as your mouth turns down. I hook a finger beneath your chin to lift your gaze to me, humour dancing in your azure orbs. "I suppose I could make an exception, seeing as it's you." Carefree laughter bubbles from your throat as I lean forward to snatch a tender kiss before pulling you to me and falling to my back. I stare up at the twinkling stars and feel you shuffle closer, tucking your head under my chin. "This is a perfect first date, Jennifer."


End file.
